in pique, it swung away from Tethys and Rhea, turning its attention back to the human it had first spotted, the one it had been on the verge of attacking before another of them had so rudely interrupted. If it must die, the Hydra wasn't going to without taking one of these infernal creatures with it, the one it perceived as the weakest.
Theia, however, was on her feet. She had only a few pieces of her armour on. She was, in fact, mostly naked. But clasped in her right hand was a combat knife with a ten-inch blade, and as the Hydra lowered its head towards her, teeth glinting avariciously, Theia said, 'This is for Nanna,' and she plunged the knife into the monster's throat. 'This is for Hubert and Celeste,' she said, twisting the knife once back and forth, its tantalum-carbide-coated titanium blade widening the jagged slash she had created. Blood gushed over her arm, sluicing out from both the wound and the Hydra's open maw. 'And this,' she said, 'is for me.' She jerked the knife upwards, parting two vertebrae.
The head lolled sideways on the neck. A flap of skin held it on for a few seconds, but the weight was too much for it and it stretched and tore, and the head landed with a thump at Theia's feet.
Nine truncated necks suddenly went limp, and the Hydra swayed for a moment, then slumped heavily into the mud. Its body convulsed, a shudder ran along the necks, and then it lay still.
'Step aside,' Rhea told Theia, and Theia numbly obeyed, and Rhea set about incinerating the Hydra, scorching the carcass until her last flamethrower capsule was used up.
Barrington, thumbing his visor up, surveyed the smoking, blackened mound of ex-monster.
'Now that,' he said, 'is one hell of a barbie.'
20. CHAMPAGNE
D uring the flight home, a couple of bottles of Krug were broached and everyone partook except Barrington, who had beer instead — 'Aussie champagne' — and Sparks, who didn't drink.
'And even if I did,' she said to Sam, 'I ain't in the mood.'
Sparks felt ashamed, that much Sam knew. The Hydra had caught her with her pants down (in more ways than one) which was bad enough, but then there'd been further humiliation to follow. First, Sam had had to send Barrington off. He, not famous for his sense of propriety, had been openly leering at the half-dressed Sparks. Then Hamel had gone over to the Louisianan, offering to help clean her up and get her back into her battlesuit, only to be rudely rebuffed.
'Don't you come near me, woman,' Sparks had snapped. 'Don't you touch me with your filthy hands.'
Sam had volunteered instead, and Hamel was now pretending to be indifferent about the incident, but her chagrin showed. She wouldn't even look at Sparks.
Celebrating hardest on the plane was McCann, who soon became flush-faced and unsteady on his legs.
'No cockups,' he said to Sam, leaning too close, breathing winey breath in her face. 'Clean bill of health for the TITAN suits. Who's the greatest engineer in the whole world? Only me!'
When they got back to Bleaney Island there was more Krug to be had, and more celebrating, and although Sam felt leaden-headed from jetlag she couldn't not join in. The mood was boisterous and relieved, and in the midst of it all Landesman stood up to make a short speech, the gist of which was: this was the first Titan op that could be considered a truly unqualified success, congratulations were in order, but no time for resting on laurels, onward and upward from here.
He concluded by saying, 'Even now, back in the Everglades, I imagine alligators are busy disposing of the Hydra's mortal remains. I envisage them tearing the carcass to pieces and squabbling over the scraps. Perhaps, if alligators can think at all, they're thinking what an unexpected boon this is. A gift from the gods, one might even say. And perhaps also, somewhere in the dim recesses of their brains, they're feeling a satisfaction far deeper than the mere quenching of physical appetite. The tyrant who was slaughtering their kind is dead. The upstart, usurping emperor of their domain has been deposed. Their home is theirs again. They are free to enjoy it as before, to roam uncontested and unmolested. They are the rulers once more.'
'It's a metaphor,' Ramsay murmured to Sam out of the side of his mouth, 'in case you didn't realise.'
Sam laughed, until she remembered she was still pissed off at Ramsay. Then, thanks no doubt to all the pricey bubbly, she forgot why she was pissed off at Ramsay, and resumed laughing.
'That's more like it,' the Chicagoan said. 'You did a good job back there, Sam, you know. You don't want or need my endorsement but I'm giving it to you anyway 'cause that's how conceited a motherfucker I am. You dealt with everything like a pro — way better than I could have. You knocked it out of the park. You played a blinder.'
'Picking up some of the local parlance there, Rick.'
'Hey, lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.'
'I just think it's nice some of our Britishness is rubbing off on you. You could do with a bit of polish,' Sam said.
'Any Britishness I'm getting off you guys mostly comes from the techs, and I don't think 'polish' applies there. Still, I reckon I've absorbed enough to be able to pass for a native.' He adopted the most appalling English accent Sam had ever heard. ''Ey, luv, fetch moy a cuppa, woodjer? I'm roit gaspin,' I am.'
'Please,' she said. 'Please stop.'
'Leave it aht, you muppet.'
She mimed being on the phone. 'Hello, Dick van Dyke? You can relax. We've found someone worse.'
'Blimey, worra load of bonkers bollocks yer spoutin.''
'That's enough, Rick. Seriously. If you carry on, I will have to kill you.'
'Cheers, ta.'
'There is an arsenal of weapons not far from where we're standing. Don't believe that I am not willing to use one of them on you. For everyone's sake.'
'Yeah, mate, wha'ever, know wha' ah mean?'
'Stop!' Sam cried, and the loud, mock-desperate plea happened to fall into a lull in the general conversation, so that everyone turned to see where it had come from and what had given rise to it.
Ramsay downpipe-gurgled. Sam sniggered. Conversation resumed.
'I knew it,' Ramsay said.
'Knew what?'
'Knew you couldn't stay mad at me for ever.'
'And I knew,' Sam retorted, 'that you couldn't stay mad at yourself for ever.'
'Heh. Touche. So where do we go from here?'
'Me personally, to bed. I'm absolutely knackered.'
'That an invitation?'
'Only an idiot would mistake it for one.'
Ramsay made a goofy face. 'I can be an idiot.'
'As we know only too well. Goodnight, Rick.'
'Goodnight, Sam. Sleep well.'
And she did. Better than she'd done in ages.
21. OPERATION:
THREE LIONS
A day passed, two days, three, and nothing from the Pantheon, not a word about the Hydra, no official statement, not a peep.
'They haven't noticed,' said Landesman. 'They don't care enough about the Hydra to be bothered to check up on it, so they've no clue it's dead and probably won't have for weeks. Just as I'd hoped. A lot of the time they treat their monsters as fire-and-forget missiles. Launch them, let them cause havoc, recall them maybe later, if at all, but maybe not. Hera has her favourites, that much we know. The Lamia, the Gorgons, Typhon. The slightly more
